While the party roared inside, I slipped into the night, shadows covering me — I had to get my fix. For years, I was a clandestine nicotine junkie. My shame was crushing. I went to extreme lengths to hide it, like a meth head — slinking off like a fiend into Aspen’s back alleys. I even had serious boyfriends who never discovered my humiliating habit. I lived alone, in part, so my dilemma stayed hidden in the closet. A stick of gum and a spritz of perfume were my cheap disguises to shroud my disgrace.
I tried quitting almost every single day. If you’ve struggled with addiction, you know the chaotic madness of that. I’d start the morning full of hope — today would be the day — only to find myself, by afternoon, consumed by cravings so intense that nothing else mattered. I even turned to chewing tobacco at one point, thinking it was somehow “better” than smoking. Big dip in my lip, spitting brown spew incessantly. I tried the gum, too mortified to ask my doctor for the patches. Day after day, I found myself reaching for that disgrace-filled hit of nicotine.
That cycle of craving and self-loathing took its toll. And this, right here, is what Jung called the shadow side of ourselves — the places we lock away because the shame feels unbearable. We’re convinced those parts make us unlovable, weird, or broken. Keeping them buried demands enormous amounts of energy. I see this again and again with my clients: the exhaustion of hiding, of carrying the weight of secrecy, when in reality we all have a dark side.
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